


Boy needs his mother.

by michonnesboys



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Carl calls michonne mom on accident, Fix-it fic, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Other, Trauma, rick doesn’t mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:27:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23787814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michonnesboys/pseuds/michonnesboys
Summary: Takes place during season 4 after Rick bites into Joe’s neck. Carl’s a little stunned and feels safer staying with Michonne for a bit and by accident he calls her mom.
Relationships: Carl Grimes & Michonne, Rick Grimes/Michonne
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	Boy needs his mother.

**Author's Note:**

> yes it’s 2020 and I’m still fixating over Carl and Michonne co-existing in each other’s lives. Yes I made this account just to write rick/dayrl/michonne...

It felt like he couldn’t breathe as he watched in paralyzing terror the scene unfolding before him. Repeatedly, with zero signs of ceasing, his father delivered plunge after plunge of his knife into the man who tried to- well Carl wasn’t quite sure what that man’s intentions were if he were being honest but it had felt wrong and now Rick was handling it like he always did. The man was dead, gone by the second stab but his dad hadn’t let up for minutes now and all he, Michonne, and Dayrl could do was let it play out, let Rick get it out of his system.

Michonne had Carl pulled into her in a protective but comforting grip, as if trying to soothe him. And he would have buried his face away in her torso, or melted into her all together if he could, anything to avoid watching his father commit this act of overkill but he couldn’t pry his icy blue eyes from it. His stomach twisted in knots of hunger and nausea as blood continued to fly and splatter and he would have thrown up if there was anything in him besides the small bit of rabbit they had cooked up just an hour prior. They had been fine, not safe or remotely happy, but they were fine. He hated how quickly shit could hit the fan, one moment he was trying his best to sleep and the next he was being dragged out of the car and thrown on the ground.

He could feel the sting of the scratches on his face from where that man pressed his cheek into the gravel and held him there. Carl didn’t understand what was happening, everything was a blur. A gun to his father’s head, Michonne being pushed around, Daryl’s groans of pain as he was kicked and punched and yet, he could barely focus on that when the sound of his abuser’s belt being unbuckled was deafening in his ears. It was some form of cruel and unusual punishment, he was sure it had to be. How violated and disgusting he felt to have the man’s weight on him, to feel his hot breath against his ear, to be touched in incomprehensible ways. He felt weak.

He hated that man, and wanted him dead but not like this. Some sick part of Carl seemed to enjoy the idea of the man dying but the part of him that was sane, the human in him, pleaded internally for everything to stop. When it did finally stop, Rick letting him fall to the ground in an ugly heap, Carl exhaled audibly. They locked eyes and there stood a man Carl swore he didn’t know, didn’t want to know. Not after that, not after he bit into the ringleader’s neck and slaughtered the henchmen. Rick took one step in his and Michonne’s direction, his son’s name on his lips. He had to know the boy was okay, wasn’t harmed but with a second step Carl was cowering further into Michonne, his body working up a terrible tremble.

“Carl..,” it came out raspy and low and he seemed to crouch a bit, trying to get to his son’s eye level, trying to show him it was his father calling out to him.

“I...I had to. You know that. For you. Carl.”

Carl had gone mute at this point, unable to speak on what just happened. He secretly hoped Michonne would help keep the distance between him and his father, just for now, just until the blood around Rick’s mouth was gone. She seemed to understand his nonverbal wish, and clung to him just a bit tighter, one arm around him and the other now holding his hand.

“Rick. Just give him- just let him breathe. Let him rest,” her voice was calm but there was some edge to it. 

“I had to.”

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

She helped the boy to his feet and his eyes instantly casted down to his scuffed up boots. A cold sweat was forming at the base of his neck as the woman loaded him back into the car, but this time the back seat. He had moved slowly as if he feared his dad would yell at him or make him address what had happened but he wasn’t ready. Michonne closed the door behind them and for a second he sat on his own, trembling in place, eyes watching his fingers until she opened her arms to him and he practically fell into her lap again. His hat tipped as he pressed his face into her lap, hiccuped twice, then started crying against his body’s will from emotional overstimulation. His chest heaved as he sobbed, tiny broken whimpers of pain filling the silence of the vehicle. He tried his best to be quiet, knowing that Dayrl and Rick were just outside but he couldn’t stop. He felt weak again.

Michonne rubbed a hand along his back in calculated circles until he became a mess of hyperventilation, a toddler in the skin of a fourteen year old. When his breaths became too shaky, the woman gave his shoulder a tender squeeze.

“You can cry, there’s nothing wrong about that..but you have to breathe for me.”

She held him until he calmed down and shriveled to nothing but a few sniffles and eventually he was asleep in her lap like that’s where he belonged. He slept well and neither Rick or Daryl interrupted the two. Michonne didn’t sleep that night but instead brushed her fingers through the soft strands of Carl’s hair. Some of it was damp with sweat and grease but it failed to bother her. The only thing on her mind was easing him. Make Carl feel safe again.

When the first streaks of sunlight flooded the car through the windshield, Carl was shifting around in his spot in what seemed to be discomfort. His eyebrows pinched and his face twisted in what seemed like pain. He was muttering to himself, talking in his sleep, fighting off demons that were invisible to those who were awake.The boy began to cry again and carefully Michonne used her thumb to wipe the warm tears away.

Carl jolted awake, his eyes staring back up at Michonne’s concerned brown ones. He was gripping her vest out of reflex and the look on his face came from pure horror. But his face softened when he realized who she was, his hold on her went slack again.

“Mom…”

The Earth seemed the pause on its axis, the air in both of their lungs seemed to evaporate into nothing. Michonne’s bottom lip quivered as a weird sensation bloomed in her chest. Carl was swift to sit up, rubbing the sleep from his fear-filled eyes. He hadn’t meant to say it. He didn’t know why he did. 

“I’m sorry. Michonne I just..I’m sorry.”

Sure there were times he had looked at her and seen nothing but a mother. There were days where her presence alone made him miss his own mom. Her touch was like medicine and her voice was so calm, yet stern, like a mother’s should be. He trusted her with his life. He’d go to her for anything and lately that anything had been affection. Sometimes he’d forget how much he craved it until she was holding him close, or ruffling his hair, sharing candy bars with him. He looked at Michonne with eyes of a boy who was looking for a mom but why would she want to mother him. He was weak, and he wasn’t her own and now he’s gone and made it weird between them. He could feel it in the air. 

“It just came out. Really.”

“It’s okay. There’s no harm done. Get some more rest, I’m going to check on Daryl and your father.”

He internally punched himself for making it sound like he was nothing but a confused kid but Michonne seemed only slightly phased as she helped him lie back down. He watched her exit the car. Michonne joined Rick and Dayrl on the other side, sitting on the ground with them. Rick was slightly cleaned up now, only parts of his beard were tinted pink. His glassy eyes were on her the moment she sat down.

“How is he? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, Rick. He just needs some rest that’s all.”

Rick rubbed at his beard with shaky hands, leaning his head against the parked car. His hands were still stained red and it pained him to look at them. They were a reminder that he lost himself from time to time, was flooded with anger and a hunger for revenge. The irony he could bring up about a blood thirsty cop. 

“Did he sleep?”

Michonne nodded, “For awhile. Think he had a nightmare just now,” she lowered her voice a bit, “he called me mom when he woke up.”

Rick stared at her, slowly cocking his head to the side like he always does when he’s questioning something. She watched the gears turn in his brain, get jammed up, and completely stop before he simply nodded.

“Makes sense. I’ve seen the way you are with ‘em. He practically loves you,” he gave a tired side grin.

“I don’t think it’s that. Thought maybe he was dreaming of his mom, or something. He kept saying he didn’t mean it. I just felt I should tell you.”

Michonne lowered her gaze to her chipped nails. So what if a part of her wanted Carl to mean it, to think of her as a mother? In no way had she wanted to overstep her place, whatever that place was in Rick’s life. She wasn’t trying to outshine Lori. It was just those moments where Carl looked at her and all she could see was someone she wanted to protect. All she could see in him was her son and she couldn’t explain it. Her heart yearned to watch this kid grow but maybe that was the infectious spell of the Grimes men. 

“He looks up to you. I see it in his eyes when you two are together. He loves you...and I know you love him. It’s been so long since his mother died- but then again what’s the wait time for someone to get over killing their own mom, for a kid to go through that,” Rick paused to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration, the sunlight beaming down on his wedding band. 

“All I’m saying is, it makes sense that he clings to you. It’s one thing to have a father, but in a world like this that kid, my son, needs a mother-figure. And if that’s you, then I have nothing to worry about.”

Tears were brimming in Michonne’s eyes and she quickly swept them away, “I don’t want to overstep-“

“You’re not...but if I’m putting something too heavy on you then-“

“No. Carl isn’t a burden to me. Never was,” she gave a soft smile.

“I know.”

Rick gave her hand a squeeze of gratitude and maybe a tad bit of something else. She made his son laugh, she calmed him down, she gave him a best friend. Rick would tell himself these things over and over when he looked at her, forcing him to believe the only reason he had kept her around in the first place was because of Carl. There was something in her presence though that kept him grounded and until he found out what it was, ‘second mother’ of his son seemed like a good enough title.

In the backseat of the car, Carl lay motionless as he listened to their hushed conversation outside. He liked how they talked and worked together. They were the perfect team. Sometimes he’d wish that they could get together and then they would all become a family again but then he’d think of his mom. He hated the idea that he was replacing her. The least he could do after making her last few weeks alive a living hell was to not move on to a new mom. So whenever he had thoughts of calling Michonne mom, he’d think of himself as a selfish brat. He refused to be selfish to Lori after death when he was so horrible to her while she was living.

Carl needed a mother, but his mother had died in that prison. But then a second thought occurred to him: maybe this was his chance to prove he could be a good son. Michonne needed a son just like he needed a mother, maybe his mom would understand that it wasn’t to replace her, it was more of a passing of the torch. What’s the harm in that? With his brain ablaze with thoughts, he found himself distracted enough to slip back into sleep. This time he didn’t dream of dirty men trying to harm him, or his father massacring people because of him. He dreamed of a house with a white picket fence, a dog in the yard, his dad pushing Judith on her first two-wheeled bike, and him by the porch helping Michonne plant flowers. He dreamed they were a family far away from anything that could hurt them. He dreamed that they would never have to run again. And finally, he dreamed he could call Michonne mom without a chance for second guessing.


End file.
